


Probability

by mrs_d



Category: due South
Genre: Domestic, F/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 20:09:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5388662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_d/pseuds/mrs_d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What struck Benton as he sat there, listening to Denny’s pen scratching, was the combination of forces that had led them here, to this place, this moment. He wondered if Denny could calculate the odds of that. Probably not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Probability

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dance_across](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dance_across/gifts).



> Three marvelous people to thank: Verushka70, DesireeArmfeldt, and iwilltrytobereasonable!

Lady Shoes was barefoot.

Benton brushed his socked foot over hers, just to feel her twitch, just to grin at the mock-irritated glare she shot him over her glasses. He never got tired of it, of seeing Denny so at home. Like him, she had the ability to make do anywhere, so her choosing to be here, with him in a small house in suburban Chicago — that was special, that kept being special, to Benton.

They sat across from one another at the kitchen table, theoretically sharing it equally, though Denny’s piles of test papers seemed to be encroaching on Benton’s territory little by little. He didn’t mind; after all, his writing needed less space than her marking.

Benton studied his notebook, trying to remember as much as he could of the Motherwell/Garbo case. Ray would no doubt tease him for being so thorough — “I said help me remember the facts, Fraser, not write the book for me!” — but Ray had said the same thing last time, before thanking him profusely when the publishing house accepted his manuscript. _Eye of the Beholder_ , a thriller about three witnesses with differing accounts of the same crime, had been an unexpected bestseller for S. R. Kowalski. The _Tribune_ called it “a breath of air for the stale detective genre,” and labelled its author “an exciting up-and-comer.” Benton was proud of Ray’s retirement pursuit, but he was somewhat concerned that he would spend the entirety of his own correcting Ray’s grammar.

Benton had just finished describing Diefenbaker’s part in finding Garbo’s stash of accelerant when Denny let out a sharp sigh and let her red pen clatter to the half-marked test before her. She took off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Something the matter?” asked Benton, closing his book.

“Just that none of my kids pay attention,” she complained.

“Ah,” said Benton, and, since he wasn’t sure what he could do to help, he asked, “Would you like some more tea?”

She opened her eyes and smiled, tired but beautiful. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” Benton slid his chair back and stood up. He leaned over for a quick, soft kiss before taking their mugs and turning in the direction of the sink.

He’d only taken one step when pain flared up suddenly in his lower back. From a distance, he heard Denny hurry to her feet behind him. She took the mugs and then her palms were working their way up under his long-sleeved shirt, kneading the sore spot, the old injury that had convinced him to retire two years ago.

“Breathe, honey,” Denny reminded him when he grunted at the pressure of her fingers. “I got you, just breathe.”

The pain seeped out as he did as she said, as she worked the tight muscle. After a moment, Benton was just enjoying the soft touch of her hands.

“Think you can sit again?” Denny asked. “Or do you want to move to the couch?”

“Couch,” Benton replied. “It’s these darn wooden chairs. I ought to have known better.”

“Can’t blame you for wanting to stay close to me,” Denny chuckled as she gently turned him in the opposite direction.

They made their way to the living room, and Benton settled on the sofa, moving the blanket they’d huddled under last night to watch _Maverick_ — Denny had been outraged when Benton told her he’d never seen it.

Denny kissed him again. “I’ll go get your tea.”

Benton nodded, then remembered they’d been talking about something before his back interrupted. “So what aren’t your students paying attention to?” he called.

“Hmm?”

“The math test. You said they weren’t paying attention?”

“Oh. They just neglected some details,” Denny replied from the kitchen.

Benton heard the water running, the click of her turning on the kettle, then papers rustling. A minute later, she stood before him, a test in her hand.

“Here, listen to this,” she said, and began to read out loud. “George and Sally are playing Go Fish with two decks of cards. They have already found two pairs of Queens, two pairs of Aces, and one pair of Jacks. Sally has 5 cards in her hand. George has 5 cards, too. One of them is a King. George asks Sally if she has a King, and she tells him to go fish. What is the probability that George will draw a King from the deck?”

Benton thought a moment. “Let’s see, 52 cards total, minus 6 for the pairs already accounted for, minus 5 for George’s hand and 5 more for Sally's. That means 36 cards unaccounted for, and 3 Kings left in the deck, so the probability is 3 out of 36.”

To his surprise, Denny laughed. “You did it, too!”

Benton frowned. “I’m sorry?”

Behind her, the kettle started to whistle. She headed back into the kitchen without answering, still chuckling.

Benton replayed the math problem in his head until Denny returned, placing two steaming mugs of tea on the coffee table. When she perched on the couch beside him, he glanced down at the test paper and, all at once, realized his mistake.

“Two decks,” he declared. “So instead of starting with 52, we start with 104, and there are 7 Kings left. Minus 6, minus 5, minus 5...” Benton calculated quickly. “The probability of the event is 7 out of 88.”

“I knew you’d get there eventually,” said Denny, grinning over at him. “Gold star, Ben.”

“Why, thank you kindly,” Benton answered dryly.

She patted his forearm and stood. “Anytime, dear.”

He didn’t reply, caught up in watching her. She unfolded a TV tray and retrieved her test papers and trusty red pen from the kitchen, settling into the recliner in the corner. He wished he could sketch her like this, her dark blonde hair pulled into a low ponytail, one stubborn strand falling forward again and again, its curled tip brushing her lips as she bent over the next test paper.

She was wearing her favourite red sleep shirt. He loved her in red; it reminded him of the night she borrowed his long johns, the night they played poker against Farrah, the night they met by chance and reconnected in a crowded Starbucks on Michigan Avenue — the night that was supposed to be his last night in Chicago.

She’d been wearing a burgundy linen blouse to combat the August heat, but her lips and fingernails were painted a fiery shade that stood out against the creamy iced coffee she sipped. Where the cup’s condensation pooled on the table, it reflected the overhead lights, looking lit from within.

“Nothing like six months in the joint to jumpstart a new career,” she’d said with a sardonic smile, when Benton asked her what she’d been up to since they last saw one another. “And after I got out, I did my community service at the Y, teaching math to senior citizens. That kind of sealed the deal.”

She threw her cards in the garbage — though Benton kept a couple decks for the two of them to play with, and for when Ray came over, since Denny never could resist cleaning him out — and she never looked back.

“But you know what’s weird?” asked Denny suddenly, startling Benton out of his memories.

“What’s that?”

“Only one student so far has gotten it right, and she’s one of my weakest. Barely passing.”

“Hm. That is unusual,” Benton agreed. “Can you at least give the others partial marks?”

“Oh, sure,” said Denny offhandedly. “I mean, their math is good. Everything adds up; it’s just that the answer is irrelevant.”

“Hm,” said Benton again.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Denny asked after a few seconds of silence.

“Just pondering that statement,” Benton replied. “Out of context, it sounds almost philosophical.”

“Well, the earliest philosophers were mathematicians,” Denny said, only a little smug.

He smiled, indulging her. “Yes, yes.”

She was right, of course, but what struck Benton as he sat there, listening to Denny’s pen scratching, was the combination of forces that had led them here, to this place, this moment. He wondered if Denny could calculate the odds of that. Probably not.

Because the night they reconnected, the night she wore burgundy and sipped iced coffee, he’d already done the math, and it was good. Everything added up: the recovery of the nuclear sub in the Arctic had redeemed him in the eyes of the RCMP, and, after his much-needed vacation with Ray, he felt ready to take on the North again. He accepted the first transfer he was offered, to a small fishing community just to the East of the Mackenzie River. The village elders liked him, the RCMP set up his living arrangements, and his soon-to-be superior officer was one of his father’s protégés.

All Benton had to do was wrap up his affairs in Chicago, but when he returned, he found himself procrastinating, opting instead to help Ray settle back in at the 27th precinct and liaising (unofficially, of course) on a few cases. Finally, the night before his departure, he packed up the few things he’d left at the Consulate and wandered the streets, waiting for Ray to be done his paperwork, so they could go out for a farewell celebration. Dief complained loudly that he might starve to death without something sugary, so they stepped into a Starbucks, and there Denny was, in line for the cashier, ordering, glancing over her shoulder, catching his eye.

He was reminded of the day he caught sight of Victoria. But Denny was wearing red, and she smiled at him, and suddenly he realized that, as good as his math had been, the answer was irrelevant. So he accepted her invitation to get a coffee, and three days later he called the detachment and told them he’d be staying in Chicago. He never looked back, either.

Denny’s pen clicked when she set it down again. Benton raised his eyebrows at her, and she smirked.

“What do you say to another movie night?”

Benton pretended to look stern. “I thought you had test papers to grade.”

With a squeak from the recliner, Denny was beside him again, her hand gently rubbing his thigh. She leaned over, her words a warm breath against his lips. “Would you believe me if I said I just finished my last one?”

“No,” he replied immediately with a slight laugh.

“Damn. You know all my tells,” she murmured, and she kissed him until he forgot to call her on her bluff.


End file.
